


A River in Egypt

by may_tricks



Category: Desperate Housewives
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Latent Homosexuality, Self-Denial, Slow Build, Slow Burn, latent bisexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2862635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/may_tricks/pseuds/may_tricks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America has 50 states and denial is not among them. Bree has issues but mostly she just really likes Lynette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A River in Egypt

**Author's Note:**

> Set during seasons 1 and 2, as well as plot divergent season 3. Also, I own nothing related to Desperate Housewives.

Bree Van de Kamp is many things: mother, friend, perfectionist, Republican, WASP, emotionally challenged, widow, recovering alcoholic. The list goes on. Yes, Bree Van de Kamp is many things, good and bad. However, there also exists a list of things she is _not._ For instance, she is _not_ a lesbian and she is _definitely not_ in love with her best friend and neighbour, Lynette Scavo.

In fact, Bree is so far from being a lesbian—and in love with Lynette, for that matter—that those things don’t even register in Bree’s mind. That is until they do and when they do it’s like a bomb has gone off and Bree’s at the center of the wreckage. All she wants to do is clean everything up, make the whole mess disappear, and carefully put everything back where it belongs. Neat little boxes, easy to stow away.

The first bomb drops on a seemingly ordinary Wednesday afternoon.

* * *

  
The Van de Kamp landline rings two and a half times before Bree has a chance to answer it.

“Is Bree Van de Kamp available?”

“This is she,” Bree answers while running her palms over her apron to smooth out the wrinkles.

“This is the nurse at Barcliffe Academy. You’re listed as one of the emergency contacts for Porter Scavo.”

Nearly dropping the phone, Bree feels her spine go stiff, her mind reeling. She tries to keep her voice steady.

“Yes I am. Has something happened?”

“Unfortunately while playing outside today Porter broke his arm and we haven’t been able to reach his parents. You were listed as a contact person and we really think it would be in Porter’s best interest to see a doctor; it was pretty nasty fall.”

“Say no more, I’ll be right there.” Bree assures while rushing to find her purse and keys, hanging up the phone in the process.

The whole ride to Barcliffe Academy, Bree feels panicked. She can’t help but agonize over Porter, probably in immeasurable pain, and scared out of his mind, only wanting to see his mother and father. For a split second, while she’s waiting for a red light to change, Bree wonders if something happened to Lynette or Tom that made them unreachable. After all, they both have cell phones, although it is plausible for Lynette to have turned hers off for a meeting and Bree thinks there was something Tom was doing with Penny today that kept him out of the house. Worried sick, she accelerates through the intersection once the light changes to green, and makes it to Barcliffe five minutes faster than if she’d been going to speed limit.

Rushing through the main office to the sick bay in the nurse’s office, Bree finds Porter resting on a couch.

“Hi honey,” she greets as she crosses the sterile office to where Porter is lying down. Crouching down to his side, Bree affectionately runs her fingers through his short hair.

“I’m going to take you and your brothers to the hospital okay? I’m going to be with you the whole time, I promise.”

Porter accepts his fate with only one question, “When can I see mommy and daddy?”

“Soon, baby.” Bree promises with a smile that she hopes convinces him. “Soon.”  
  
~  
  
They take Bree’s car to the hospital, although she wonders if maybe they should have called for an ambulance. She didn’t want to leave Porter alone for a second, even with EMS, and she needed to take the other boys since the school day would be done in only a couple hours anyway and if the school couldn’t reach Lynette and Tom then God only knows what would have happened if the boys were done for the day and no one was ready to pick them up.

“Now Porter what do you think?” Dr. Campbell asks, showing off Porter’s brand new cast. For the first time since Bree’s seen him today, Porter lights right up.

“Can I draw on it?

Dr. Campbell smiles, “You sure can, big guy.”

Turning to Bree, who’s sitting in a chair next to the patient bed that Porter and Preston are sitting up on, and juggling Parker in her lap, the doctor offers her a different kind of smile: sympathetic.

“Porter is going to be just fine, Mrs. Van de Kamp. He just has to wear the cast for a few weeks and he’ll be good as new.”

The good news leaves Bree letting go of a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“Thank you, doctor. You have no idea what that means to hear.”

A knock at the door interrupts and Dr. Campbell dismisses himself for a phone call. While he’s gone, Bree lets the boys play with some of the cotton swaps and Popsicle sticks since they’re getting antsy sitting around. When the door reopens a moment later a nurse with teddy bear decorated scrubs and a nametag that says Ellie on it lets Lynette come barrelling in looking like she ran here from the office, which Bree can entirely believe. Lynette loves her kids, would die for them, would kill for them, and nothing is going to keep her from them. That said, she thinks Lynette shows remarkable self-restraint when she starts depositing kisses on Porter’s cheeks, forehead, and nose.

“Oh my god, sweetie. You had mommy _so scared._ Are you okay, baby?”

“He’s doing just fine, Lynette.” Bree offers with a comforting smile. “Truly.”

At her friend’s words, Lynette feels herself relax only slightly. Enough to turn back to her son and look him dead in the eye and ask again, just to make sure. When his answer is positive, and he starts telling her about his cast, Lynette let’s herself calm down for the first time since she checked her voicemail and found out that all this was happening.

A couple minutes later, the boys mention they’re hungry and Ellie offers to fetch the three of them snacks, which gives Lynette and Bree a moment alone.

“I should never have turned off my phone,” Lynette shares as she collapses on the patient’s bed.

Bree joins her in a second, pulling up her chair to sit in front of her, reaching out to hold her hands.

“Oh honey, there’s no way you could have known something like this would happen. It’s not your fault and Porter is a big boy. Kids are impossibly resilient; they bounce right back.”

Despite her genuineness, Bree doesn’t feel she is going to be able to assuage Lynette’s guilt entirely. The realization of which, of course, makes her feel awful. Standing up, Bree steps forward and circles her arms around her friend. At the gesture, Lynette lets her legs fall open so Bree can step inside the small space and hug her closer. With Lynette’s cheek resting against Bree’s collar, Bree drops a kiss on the crown of her friend’s head.

This is how the nurse finds them when she returns, the boys trailing behind her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

At the nurse’s apology, Bree simply shakes her head as if to say it’s no interruption at all, takes the seat next to Lynette on the bed, and waves the boys into the room.

“You two have some great kids,” Ellie supplies as she watches the three little boys group hug Lynette.

The comment stops Bree short, leaving her frozen. She couldn’t possibly have heard that woman correctly. There’s no way that someone could ever misconstrue Lynette and her as anything more than friends. There’s just no way.

Thankfully, before Bree can have a mental breakdown, Lynette jumps in to save the day.

“They’re all mine, actually.”

A look of realization passes over the nurse’s face and for a moment Bree feels relieved although she hasn’t the faintest idea as to why.

* * *

   
“I have nothing to wear.”

This is a lie.

Bree knows it’s a lie because she has seen Lynette in countless clothes before, ranging from weekend casual to office appropriate to fancy evening wear. However, Bree knows that Lynette would not call if she truly felt that she had a viable option on what to wear today.

“Come on over, we’ll find something for you to borrow.”

Less than 5 minutes later Lynette and Bree are tearing apart Bree’s closet, searching for something that Lynette can borrow for a meeting with a potential client that she has to knock the socks off of. Laid out all over Bree’s bed are skirts, shirts, blouses, slacks, and dresses in a kaleidoscope of colours.

“What about this one?” Bree implores, holding up a soft green shirt made of downy fabric. “It matches your eyes.”

Lynette takes the shirt and feels the softness, “It’s great, thank you. Now what am I doing for bottoms?”

Bree seems to consider this for a moment before unearthing a plain black A-line skirt. With a questioning look on her face, Bree turns her attention back to Lynette.

“How about this?”

“Does it have spit up on it?” Lynette asks as she shucks off her shirt so it lands carelessly to the carpet.

Bree simply rolls her eyes then says, rather pointedly, “Considering my youngest is in high school the answer to that question would be no.”

“Then it’s perfect.”

The assertion is followed by Lynette dropping her pants to the floor and stepping out of them, leaving a heap of her clothes next to Bree’s bed. It’s strange seeing Lynette like this; nearly naked. They’re both grown women so it shouldn’t be a big deal; girls share locker rooms and change rooms all the time and it’s never anything. It’s normal. Yet here Bree is, sinking into her mattress, watching Lynette Scavo strip. To say the whole scene is a little bizarre would be an understatement. A moment later though, Lynette is tugging the soft green shirt overhead and yanking up the skirt so she’s fully covered again.

On an exhale, Lynette fixes her posture so she looks like she’s about to do her presentation right there in the middle of the bedroom.

“Okay, be brutally honest; how do I look?”

Appraising her friend, Bree lets her gaze wander up and down Lynette’s frame. She was right, the colour suits Lynette wonderfully.

“You look stunning,” she finally settles on once Lynette starts fidgeting. “Just let me add one last touch.”

Crossing the room toward the bureau, Bree retrieves a wooden box from the first drawer. There’s a picture of her and Rex from their honeymoon slid between a small sheet of glass and the wooden frame. They’re both smiling in the warm sun, their arms linked, and attention focused on whoever is taking the picture. Withdrawing a small silver bracelet, Bree beams with accomplishment, as if uncovering a plot twist or proving a point.

“Oh no, Bree, this is too much.” Lynette insists, her eyes pleading but Bree Van de Kamp is nothing if not stubborn.

“It’s really not,” she argues while taking Lynette’s wrist and clasping the bracelet in place.

 _“There,”_ Bree says with a note of finality. Stepping back, she appreciates her handiwork, _“Perfect.”_  
  
~  
  
When Lynette gets home from work, she comes inside and kicks off her shoes. She hugs her children and tells them to be careful because they can’t mess up mommy’s outfit at all.

“Is that new?” Tom asks, nodding his head at Lynette’s outfit.

She smirks and strikes a pose, “Why, do you like it?”

“Looks like something out of the Bree Van de Kamp spring collection.”

His tone is joking so Lynette rolls with it, plopping herself unceremoniously on to the couch.

“Maybe ‘cause it is.”

Her answer evokes a reaction from Tom, who looks at her wide-eyed and a bit confused. “Seriously? Why are you wearing it?”

“I didn’t have anything to put on this morning,” Lynette complains as she knots her hair up in a ponytail tie she kept stowed in her purse. “Bree did me a favour.”

Tom lifts Penny from the playpen so that she's nestled in his arm, “You have plenty of beautiful clothes, honey.”

“None that were clean and presentable and could have got us a new client!”

The words ring through the room with so much enthusiasm that Tom is taken aback and then he’s kissing Lynette on the lips, pressing the word _congratulations_ against her mouth.

“Oh, oh! Watch the outfit!” Lynette reminds him and Tom laughs and steps back with Penny in his arms.

Musing over the clothes in question, Lynette spares a glance across the street at the Van de Kamp house.

“I think I ought to return this before midnight when the magic spell wears off.”

With one last kiss to her lips, Tom lets his wife go. She tells him she’ll be right back as she makes a break for the front door. Crossing the street, Lynette hears her shoes clack across the pavement, the street lights flooding the cul-de-sac with colour. Once she’s made it to the Van de Kamp’s front door, she rings bell but only as a nicety because she’s done this a hundred times before anyway.

“Lynette,” Bree calls out as she appears from the kitchen, dish towel in hand. “How did your meeting go?”

“We got the client!” She boasts, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice. Today has been a good day.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Bree teases and a moment later she and Lynette are embracing.

Drawing back, Lynette sighs and offers a more relaxed smile. “Well I wanted to thank you again for letting me borrow the outfit. I can launder it before returning it, no problem.”

“Oh that won’t be necessary, I’ll do just put in with our loads.”

“Well if you’re sure,” Lynette sing-songs.

Bree can be so polite and mostly Lynette doesn’t want to burden her with anything extra but other times teasing Bree for her perfectly on point mannerisms is fun. That said, when Lynette follows Bree upstairs to get changed, she probably shouldn’t be surprised to find that the clothes she’d left on the bedroom floor were folded neatly and left at the foot of Bree’s mattress. She had forgotten her own outfit, a simple blouse and slacks, in her rush to work. Naturally, Bree couldn’t have something as unseemly as a couple articles of clothing on her floor.

The two chat amicably about their days as Lynette gets changed. They’re discussing Bree’s new recipe and something she saw on the news when Lynette drops the skirt to the floor followed by the shirt peeling off only a moment later. It’s embarrassing but Bree feels a bit uncomfortable watching her friend get partially naked in front of her for the second time in the past 12 hours. She doesn’t think it’s strange that two women can share clothes, friends and family do it all the time, but clearly _something_ is making Bree feel this way. Worse yet, she can’t even describe what is that she’s feeling. If she could then at least she could handle it but right now she’s just looking at Lynette, wondering why in the world something as simple as borrowing clothes can make her have an existential crisis.

Once she’s changed, Lynette thanks Bree again and promises to catch up again soon before heading back across the street to Tom and the kids. Alone in her bedroom, Bree collects the clothes she’d lent Lynette. They smell faintly of Lynette’s perfume but before Bree can think too much about that she adds them to the other discarded items in her hamper basket.

* * *

  
Susan, Gabby, and Bree are conversing on Susan’s front porch when Lynette comes up the walk with Penny in her arms. Gabby doesn’t even give Lynette the chance to sit down before she launches into her freshest gossip.

“Lynette, you will never guess what I heard about Maisie Gibbons.”

“Isn’t she still in prison?” Lynette wonders as she deposits Penny into Bree’s arm.

It’s habit by now; Lynette handing over her youngest to Bree to hold and coddle as soon as Bree sees the little girl. Despite some negative gossip labelling Bree Van de Kamp as a cold-hearted emotionally detached bitch, Bree does adores children, especially babies. She lights up immediately upon seeing Penny being toted in her mother’s arms then reaches out to the little girl before she even realizes what she’s doing. Lynette doesn’t mind at all either, easily passing her daughter off to her friend, who is always so gentle with her. She plays with the blonde wisps of her hair and grins at the baby’s soft cooing sounds. Taking the empty space next to Bree on Susan’s bench, Lynette settles in for Gabby’s diatribe.

Discussion and refills flow freely, the four friends catching each other up on the past week’s events. Threads of conversation seem endless, spilling over the afternoon, until the bright summer sun is fading into a soft late-afternoon hue. Lynette takes a few breaks to make sure Penny is well fed and changed, disappearing into Susan’s house to get more food and drinks for her friends while taking care of her youngest. Upon returning with a bag of pretzels and a pitcher of lemonade lifted from Susan’s fridge, Lynette just passes through the front door to find the girls ooh-ing and awe-ing over Penny and Bree.

“Oh Lynette, grab my camera, will you?” Susan asks, her voice giddy. “Penny has the most adorable laugh, we need pictures.”

Amused, Lynette places the food and drink on the outdoor table before heading back inside in search of the camera. Familiar enough with Susan’s house to locate the camera, Lynette returns a moment later and passes it off to Susan.

Accepting the camera readily, Susan turns it on and begins snapping pictures of Bree balancing Penny in her lap, the little girl clapping her hands enthusiastically.

“These are just precious,” Susan announces as she adjusts the features. “I want a wallet sized.”

“You can have ‘em,” Lynette promises as she rejoins Bree on the bench.

Even Gabby, who is not unknown to comment on her distaste of children—babies or otherwise—is swept up in the whirlwind.

“She is gorgeous,” Gabby comments as she reaches out to shake Penny’s petite hand.

All of the baby’s fingers curl around Gabby’s thumb and everyone seems floored by how small and gentle a single human being can be. Using the opportunity to take another picture, Susan turns the camera on Gabby and Penny, immortalizing them in Technicolor on the digital camera. Gabby pretends to be annoyed by rolling her eyes but can’t keep the smile off her face to save her life. A moment later, Susan has her attention focused on Penny, Lynette, and Bree. She takes a couple pictures of the two women sitting side-by-side, Penny seated on Bree’s lap with her arms stretched out toward her mother. Bree’s head is tilted back as she laughs, her hands keeping Penny from potentially falling. In one picture Lynette is making a goofy face at her daughter, in the other she’s kissing the tip of her nose.  
  
~  
  
Two weeks later, the four women have reconvened on Susan’s front porch for another couple of hours of cards and conversation.

“Oh, I have something for you guys!” Susan shares, leaping from her seat to retrieve something from inside the house. The rest of the women share an expression of confusion and surprise.

Returning with an envelope in hand, Susan spreads the photographs taken weeks before on the table. The pictures are divvied up among the four of them, tucked into purses to bring home. Later in the evening, after everyone has dispersed from Susan’s, Bree finds an old picture frame in with a bunch of other boxes full of miscellaneous items.

  
Deliberating over which photo to add to the frame, Bree seriously considers putting in one of the pictures of her and Lynette with Penny. They’re perfectly lovely and Bree catches herself admiring how the sunlight catches Lynette’s blonde hair and, of course, her dazzling smile. For a moment, Bree tries to envision where in the house she’d keep this picture. In the living room? The upstairs hallway? She imagines what it would look like to see this picture next to the ones of her late husband and her own children. It would surely be distasteful to put a picture of her laughing next to a picture of her deceased husband so that was out of the question. Ultimately, she decides to place it next to the picture she has of her, Lynette, Gabby, Susan, and Mary Alice before Mary Alice had died. They were all smiling in their picture with Mary Alice and somehow that made it seem less awful than placing it alongside Rex, although Bree couldn’t explain why if asked.

Pleased with her choice, Bree simply has to settle on which picture to select. She weighs her options with as much attention she gives flower arrangements and seating charts. It needs to be perfect. After some consideration, Bree decides on the picture of Lynette kissing Penny’s nose since it has the best colouring. Sliding it into the frame, Bree angles the picture perfectly next to the one taken before Mary Alice’s death, then stands back to admire it.

For the next week, Bree keeps catching herself looking at the picture. Every time she finds it hard to drag her attention away, she diverts her gaze from the shine in Lynette’s eyes, the glow in her smile. After all, it’s just a picture.

* * *

  
Since Andrew has been spending an increasing amount of time with his new _friend_  Justin, and Danielle is at an overnight birthday party, Bree has the whole house to herself. She manages to finish reading a new book and is tempted to have a glass of wine but to do so she’d have to drive out to the liquor store to buy a bottle and that’s a recipe for disaster. Instead, she calls on Lynette to come over and is beyond relieved when she agrees.

Their friendship has been on tentative terms ever since the babysitting debacle and Lynette’s inquisition of Bree’s drinking. However, weeks had passed without incident, just the two of them being cordial with one another. Bree had always been skilled at the art of social niceties and even though all of Wisteria Lane had gotten wind of her DUI charge, passing out in the lawn, and losing track of the Scavo twins, she had not relented in her effort to appear perfect. Lynette, seemingly out of civility, did not make a scene with Bree. In fact, they even had a few polite conversations. The moments always came out a bit strained but Bree remained hopeful it was something they could get passed.

“Empty nest?” Lynette asks, coming in through the front entrance of the Van de Kamp residence.

“The children are at friends’,” Bree confirms, shutting the door behind Lynette.

“Ah,” she says and the response leaves Bree at odds.

She’s not felt this way around Lynette before, even after everything with blacking out while babysitting. Lynette was angry then, rightfully so, which was much easier to deal with than this animosity. Yet she still chose to come over and that has to mean something.

“I was thinking of making cookies,” Bree shares as she gestures toward the apron tied around her waist. “Double chocolate chip; your favourite.”

For a moment Bree thinks something has passed over Lynette’s face. She’s uncertain what it is but it’s gone before she has a chance to name it.

“I joined AA.”

The words burst from her lips before she can stop them. Pale skin flushing soft pink, Bree averts her gaze to the floor and watches as Lynette steps closer, her feet entering Bree’s eye-line.

“So these cookies are supposed to be what?” Lynette asks, forcing Bree to meet her eye. “An apology?”

“And an acknowledgement,” Bree concedes, surprised by the sudden surge of confidence in her tone, even more so by the truth in her words.

Empowered, she presses forward, taking Lynette’s silence as permission to keep talking.

“I made a mistake; I shouldn’t have drank while I was watching the kids, it was reckless and negligent. More than that, I shouldn’t have lied to you about it or been so defensive when you asked if I had a problem. I’m trying to fix things now, I just want everything to go back to normal but I know it doesn’t work that way. I just really want to be your friend again.”

There’s a pause, a moment of bated breath. Entirely prepared to pretend as if none of this ever happened, Bree is about to launch into how this was all a mistake—one of her many, so it seems—but is stopped short by Lynette’s disbelieving reply—

“You think we stopped being friends?”

Her question hangs uncomfortably in the room and Bree wants nothing more than to make a quick excuse and hightail it the hell out of there, even though she invited Lynette over, even though she was going to make her apologies in the form of baked goods.

“I would understand if you were upset—”

“You’re damn right I’m upset,” Lynette agrees, her voice firm. “You screwed up, Bree. You got drunk while watching my kids, they took off while you were passed out on the couch, and you lied to my face about it. You let the boys take the fall for you, you denied having a problem, and you never even came to any of us for help.”

Her words sting about as much as Bree has anticipated, which has been one of the primary reasons she hadn’t approached Lynette about the incident. Trying her hardest not to let self-preservation take over, Bree stands there and accepts the onslaught, expecting the worse. What she gets instead comes as a curve ball for her.

“Why didn’t you come to us? We were so _worried_ for you, Bree. If you told us what was going on we would have been there for you.”

There’s accusation in her tone but Bree understands now where it’s rooted. All this time she thought Lynette would spend the rest of her life hating her. Every time Bree thought better than what her pride wanted, every time she picked up the phone to call Lynette to flat out apologize and beg for her trust back, it never occurred to her that she could be worthy of compassion. She certainly didn’t feel as though she deserved any, nor did she feel anyone owed her love or understanding. Her dead husband had wanted to divorce her, both her children hated her, a man who she had considered a beloved friend had murdered and attempted to murder men close to her then killed himself, and she had failed to take care of herself to the point that she was not only self-destructive but also a danger to the public.

“I don’t want to give you excuses.”

“You’re not, oh my God, of course you’re not.” Lynette stresses, stunned that Bree could ever even think this way. “Needing help is _not_ making excuses; much as you try to deny it you are only human.”

Holding her hope inside, terrified to show it off to Lynette even now when she’s laying everything else in front of her, Bree holds on to this. She can’t let Lynette see how much she needs her forgiveness, her friendship, because if she does then she’s vulnerable with nothing in her arsenal to protect herself. Without alcohol she doesn’t have a crutch to support herself should Lynette does deny her. So Bree manages to keep her composure, maybe for the first time tonight.

“So you forgive me?”

Lynette holds her gaze then lifts an eyebrow, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

“You got any of that cookie dough handy?”

Bree nods immediately, feeling her wall break down and desperation come through. It disappears a moment later though, replaced by relief and even excitement, when Lynette smiles and links their arms.

It feels like a fresh start, the two of them sitting in the kitchen drinking juice and eating raw cookie dough. Lynette catches Bree up about the office and family life while Bree works up the courage to start talking about AA. She tells her about Andrew and his _special friend_ Justin, how she woke up in the changing room long after the store closed, and her sponsor Peter. They stay up until 2am, Bree teaching Lynette a new recipe, and when they’re too tired to even keep standing they retire to Bree’s bedroom.

“I can sleep in the guest bed, you know.” Lynette offers but Bree is having none of it. Instead, she pulls back the covers so that the two of them can crawl into bed.

“Goodnight, Bree.” Lynette says into the dark.

“Goodnight, Lynette.” Bree echoes.

Closing her eyes, Bree feels simultaneously sober and at peace for the first time in a long time.  
  
~  
  
In the early morning light, Bree feels herself being drawn from sleep. Beside her, Lynette is still dead to the world, her face pressed into a pillow, hair array. She looks comfortable, sleeping soundly. If this were a couple weeks ago, Bree’s morning routine would require slipping downstairs for a quick pick-me-up in the form of white wine. However, much to her great surprise, AA and Peter’s support have been paying off. So while it aches knowing she can’t have a drink, Bree is comforted by the knowledge that slowly but surely things are coming back together.

With this in mind, she grins and leans down so that her lips are only a hair from Lynette’s ear.

“I’m making breakfast,” she chimes in a sleep hushed voice.

Lynette’s muffled response is barely audible but Bree is almost certain she’s caught " _waffles_ " in there somewhere. She also knows how Lynette likes hers with fresh fruit and chocolate drizzle so that is definitely do-able. Glad to have something on her mind other than the complete lack of alcohol in her house, Bree climbs out of bed to get started on breakfast.  
 

* * *

 

  
Lynette is sick.

She has this wicked 24 hour bug and has been on bed rest lock down since Tom found her wilting around the toilet this morning, emptying the contents of her stomach. He takes care of the boys, making sure they understand that mommy is very sick with the flu and needs her rest so no one can be too near her right now because they’ll get sick too, then rushes the children off to school. Penny is taken into work for daycare and so Lynette is left home alone.

About a half an hour after Tom leaves for work, Bree phones the Scavo residence. She only does this because she didn’t see Lynette leave with him.

“Hello?” Lynette greets as she picks up the phone.

“Oh, Lynette. You sound positively awful.” Bree laments and Lynette can’t help but wryly smile at the comment.

“Gee, thanks Bree. You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

Bree opts to ignore the sarcasm, asking instead if anyone is taking care of her today.

“Tom’s at work, Penny’s in daycare, and the boys are at school until 3:30, so I’m keeping myself company. Mostly I just want to curl up and die though, so you know it’ll be a fun day.”

Lynette really wasn’t sure what that explanation would get her knowing Bree’s unrelenting hospitality. The last time one of the boys were sick, Bree made two dozen cookies and bought them colouring books. When Susan had dental surgery, Bree had driven her to and from her appointment, then made dinner for her and Julie. It was in Bree’s nature to want to take care of things, an example of the sense of compassion that people often thought Bree devoid of. So when Bree says she’s coming over—and refuses to take no for an answer—Lynette should not be shocked.  
  
~  
  
“I didn’t know mac n’ cheese made the cut for fine dining.” Lynette comments as she watches Bree scavenge her kitchen for ingredients.

“This is _a little_ more elaborate than _mac n’ cheese_ ,” Bree says the last bit with disdain that Lynette can’t help but be amused by.

Sometimes Bree’s upper-crust world seem so much like a caricature that it is laughable. It’s not as if Lynette even as some special affinity for the food although it has its merit, namely being easy to feed four kids, but Bree’s dislike of it on principle is still pretty funny. Also the fact that mac n’ cheese can take two hours to prepare is pretty astounding.

“It’s an old family recipe,” Bree goes on as she unearths measuring cups, cutlery, and a cheese grater. “My grandmother made it for my mother and my mother made it for me and I still make it on occasion.”

For a moment, Lynette tries to imagine Bree being a little girl, eating some fancy version of mac n’ cheese instead of the kind from the box like everyone else. It’s strange to picture it though since Bree so rarely speaks of her childhood. Lynette would definitely like to think it was a happy one but then she’s not so sure. She knows Bree has a step-mother but she never knew what happened to her birth mother, the issue just never seemed to come up and it wasn’t as if Bree was unloading her childhood memories at every available opportunity. Watching Bree now though, moving around her kitchen with a mixing bowl in hand and searching for the butter, Lynette tries to keep the moment light.

“Well I’m honoured but I’m not making any promises about keeping it all down.”

“If you’re still feeling nauseous then you should really being lying down.”

“I’m sick, not totally useless; I can help out.”

And as soon as she makes the assertion, Lynette feels a lurch in her stomach that has her bolting toward the bathroom. Crouched over the toilet on the main level of the house, Lynette empties her stomach contents into the porcelain bowl, desperately trying to forget every bout of morning sickness she suffered through, every time she felt like she was going to die on this bathroom floor simply because she had nothing left in her. It wasn’t a great feeling and it certainly stripped her of any previous credibility to her claim that she was fine, whether or not Bree truly believed her.

Eyes closed, chin resting on the seat of the toilet, Lynette drops her head forward just a bit as another wave of nausea rips right through. She can barely make out the sound of footsteps over her breakfast coming up but a second later there are hands on her shoulders, rubbing circles into the fabric of her shirt. Embarrassed by her sudden retreat into helplessness, Lynette wants to will Bree away but she has negative amounts of energy right now and the fact that Bree is holding her hair back from her face is appreciated.

“Maybe you’d like to save the mac n’ cheese for dinner,” Bree offers dryly.

Drawing back from the toilet, Lynette makes a face as she pulls herself up off the floor.  
  
~  
  
Slipping into a makeshift medically induced coma, courtesy of over the counter cough syrup and some soup and crackers (a recipe that Bree came up with by herself), Lynette is down for the count for most of the late morning. When she wakes up a bit past noon she notes that the house is more put together than she left it, undoubtedly Bree’s doing.

“Hope you don’t mind,” is Bree’s reply as she continues to de-clutter with no intention of stopping. “How are you feeling?”

Lynette swings her legs off the couch, gripping the cushions as she does so, afraid to lose her balance sitting down.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck. Twice.”

With a sympathetic look, Bree starts folding up the blanket that Lynette had been sleeping with then places it at one end of the couch.

“You really shouldn’t sleep down here. Go rest in bed.”

“Might take a shower actually, if that’s okay with you, I mean.”

“Of course it is,” Bree remarks. “This is your house.”

Smirking, Lynette lets her gaze dart around the living room, which Bree is still in the mist of organizing. There’s a mug of tea on the coffee table and the blanket is folded up now, the kitchen is also in her eye-line so Lynette can’t help but look toward the dishes slotted in the drying rack. When her attention comes back to Bree, the woman in question looks only slightly indignant at Lynette’s good-humored knowing tone.

“You should be grateful, nannies and maids can charge a fortune.”

“So you want to come take care of my house every day?” Lynette teases as she makes her way toward the staircase. “Because that would be a huge timesaver.”

Following behind Lynette, Bree makes a comment about not having enough time in the world to wrangle three small boys and a baby. The two make their way upstairs where—and Lynette really had tried to enforce that _no Bree, it’s okay, I can run my own shower_ —Bree starts running the hot water for Lynette while the latter gets changed into a bathrobe in her bedroom. Maybe because she’s sick, or maybe because she likes seeing the caring side of Bree that is often overlooked, Lynette lets her take the wheel. When she turns up in the bathroom and Bree is testing the water’s temperature, Lynette can’t help but comment.

“You going to stay here while I shower because I mean we’re close but I wouldn’t want to make Tom jealous.”

“I sincerely doubt that Tom would assume I’m somehow taking advantage of you. Besides, profuse vomiting and blood-shot eyes are surprisingly not among my turn on’s.”

With an _okay, fair point_ face, Lynette shrugs and Bree laughs. The sound echoes in the bathroom and it’s infectious, causing Lynette to start laughing too. For a few moments that’s all that’s going on: the two of them laughing in Lynette’s bathroom, the shower running in the background, a steady thrum.  
  
~  
  
Once Lynette emerges from the shower she goes downstairs to find Bree sitting on the couch doing needle-point. She joins her a moment later and Bree looks up from the task at hand to ask if Lynette is feeling any better. When Lynette assures that she is, if only marginally, Bree is delighted. They agree to watch TV since Lynette has absolutely no energy for anything else, and Bree lets Lynette pick a program without complaint.

They end up settling on a crime show marathon and as the opening credits play, Bree gets up to fetch some snacks that she hopes Lynette can keep down. While she’s up, she also manages to get her hands on some vaporizer rub. As Bree rejoins Lynette on the couch, Lynette stretches her legs out over her lap, and Bree gently rubs the vaporizer into the arches of Lynette’s feet as they watch the episode unfold on screen. It’s a decent enough program, not necessarily something Bree would have chosen for herself, but Lynette seems perfectly content to drift in and out of consciousness while it plays on in the background.

And although Lynette is sleeping, Bree notes that it’s hardly restful. She twists about without purchase, as if trying to find a position that will make her slightly more comfortable, and Bree truly wishes that she could convince Lynette just to sleep in bed. Still, with the midafternoon sun filtering through the bay window and flooding Lynette in light, haloing her blonde hair, Bree doesn’t mind the sight. After all, Lynette is a very beautiful woman, which is of course an entirely a scientific observation. Bree can admit when another woman is attractive, in fact it would be incredibly difficult to argue that Lynette is _unattractive_ , and there’s nothing abnormal about acknowledging someone’s physical appearance. Gabby certainly doesn’t mind when someone acknowledges hers, Bree thinks amusedly.

So it’s fine, it’s nothing to even remark on. Lynette is beautiful and her friend and Bree tells herself that’s all there is to it because that’s all there is.

_Honestly._

* * *

  
Lynette kisses her cheek and a jolt of electricity runs right through Bree.

“Sorry I’m late,” Lynette apologizes as she peels off her jacket and takes the vacant seat.

“I had to get the twins to their soccer practice and Parker to baseball, which reminds me: he has a game next weekend if you’re interested. I’ve already invited Susan, Gabby, and Edie, and by some stroke of dumb luck they’re all available and willing.”

The restaurant they’ve chosen for lunch is one Bree’s been meaning to see for some time, at least since she found out about it a few weeks back. She hadn’t minded the wait for Lynette to arrive, who was only five minutes late anyway.

“Do they keep score at these games?” Bree wonders aloud while offering a menu to Lynette.

Snorting in amusement, Lynette accepts the menu. “No, the kids are too little. The parents keep track though and _they are brutal_.”

“I take it you’re one of those parents.”

Her teasing earns Bree a kick from under the table, accompanied by Lynette pulling a face. Before Bree has the chance to act offended, however, their waiter appears with two glasses of ice water that he sets in front of each of them.

“Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Jacob and I’ll be serving you this afternoon. Is there anything I can start you off with or would you like some more time with your menus?”

They start with a spinach dip appetizer to share, a soup for Bree, and a salad for Lynette. Conversation flows freely with Bree being suitably sympathetic and annoyed on behalf of Lynette when the latter complains about Ed, clients, and endless meetings. For her part, Lynette listens attentively as Bree talks about her recent struggles in motherhood. They also manage to cover a range of different topics, including current events, weekend plans, and dozens of other conversation threads that split off like the spokes of a spider’s web.

“You must try the soup, Lynette. It’s simply divine,” Bree expresses in an otherwise quiet moment, spooning a portion with such natural grace that Lynette can’t help but smile and agree.

Guiding the spoon to Lynette’s mouth, Bree gives a gesture of encouragement when Lynette seems unsure if she should just take from Bree’s cutlery. Despite her anal retentiveness, Bree Van de Kamp is no germaphobe, although public perception may argue otherwise. When Lynette makes a pleased sound from the back of her throat, approving of the flavour, Bree basks in it. Proud of herself and unashamed to show it, Bree looks pleased with and entirely misses that their waiter has returned at their tableside.

The young man looks to both women, offering a charming smile.

“I take it you’re enjoying your meals, ladies?”

Delighted, Bree places her spoon back on her napkin. “Everything is absolutely scrumptious.”

“Yes, it’s all wonderful,” Lynette agrees while dabbing at her own mouth. “Thank you.”

Jacob smiles at the reviews; it’s always a relief to work for happy, polite customers.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Were you two considering dessert?”

Appraising the menu, Bree reviews the options. “What would you recommend?”

“Personally? The lava cake is my favourite. My fiancée loves it too,” he adds genially.

Considering his opinion, Bree looks up at him with pleasant smile and a spark in her eye, and because Bree is the kind of person to make small talk with her waiter, she strikes up a conversation about his love life. Apparently he’s been engaged six months to his fiancée and they’re moving to South Carolina after they get married next month, the woman’s name is Hannah, and the two of them met while he had a job as bartender. Lynette learns more about this kid—and she’ll call him a kid when he doesn’t look old enough to legally drink, let alone serve others—in a three minute conversation than she has learned about any waiter in her entire life. He does seem sweet though and Lynette’s pretty damn sure he’s just netted himself a healthy tip.

“So how did you two meet anyway?”

Confused for a split second, the corners of Bree’s lips turn down while Lynette’s brow creases. The light goes off for Lynette first, whose attention snaps from the waiter—was his name Jake? Jacob?—to Bree’s. Anxiety creeps up under her skin and Lynette plasters on a bright smile that feels too pinched.

“Through our husbands,” she offers hastily.

It’s not a complete lie since technically they met the day she and Tom were moving in and Tom was there and they were bickering about the twins, so it’s not a lie, not really anyway. The kid catches on immediately, given by the sudden tint of red low on his cheeks and neck. Only appearing slightly awkward for his mistake, he rambles off something about dessert and Bree decides on the lava cake while Lynette opts for a slice of raspberry cheesecake.

When returns with their desserts, Lynette catches the waiter’s eye and they share a moment of mutual discomfort. She thinks he wants to apologize for the assumption he’d drawn but doesn’t know how to do so politely or how either she or Bree would receive it. Instead, he lets them eat in peace then comes back around for the cheques once they’ve cleared their plates.

“So will that be separate or together?”

Another awkward second ticks by between Lynette and the waiter, both of whom are trying to not make eye contact while actively trying not to be weird about it. Thankfully, Bree is too busy insisting she foot the whole bill and retrieving her credit card from her outrageously expensive clutch to notice.

Ever the polite customer, Bree leaves a generous tip. Lynette offers the kid a strained smile and weird half wave as she and Bree make a break for the exit. The kid waves back too, wearing an expression of combined discomfort and relief as Lynette retreats with Bree by her side.

“What a wonderful restaurant.” Bree is positively glowing about the experience, her eyes lit up as she passes through the parking lot.

“I’ll have to try to mimic their recipes some time.”

Lynette bumps her shoulder against Bree’s as they head toward their cars. “You didn’t have to pay it all, you know.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. If you really want to pay me back then we can go for lunch another time.”

“I’ll check when I’m free,” Lynette agrees.  
  
~  
  
Later that day it occurs to Bree that today’s lunch was the first time she’d spent some down time with just Lynette in ages. Every week the girls get together for poker and they often see each other during the week, it would be difficult not to, but it was nice spending lunch with only Lynette. Of course, Bree genuinely does enjoy all her friends’ company but things with Lynette have always been a bit different, perhaps because the two of them can be so contrasting, what with Lynette’s corporate ambitions and more casual demeanor versus Bree’s inclination to domestic life and conservativeness. As well, Lynette always seems more forward, less passive-aggressive, and so readily wears her heart on her sleeve.

These traits are all things about her friend that Bree deeply admires, although she does have difficulty emulating them herself. Sometimes their differences do grate Bree’s nerves, however, and when they do they seem to have these odd little disturbances. They’re never quite malicious, not truly. The reconciliation is always the best part though; trepidation followed by a sense of coming home. That’s the thing about Lynette, Bree thinks, she feels like home. Wisteria Lane, the other girls, her own house all feel correct and natural too but when she sees Lynette every morning from her bay window it feels like Bree is looking at a picture of everything she’s always imagined.

Then Bree can’t seem to stop herself from thinking of the brief kiss Lynette dropped on her cheek and the circuit she fried that made the sensation flood through the rest of her body. She thinks about it for a few fuzzy moments in bed that night before turning over on to her stomach and forcing her face into the pillow.  
She must be suffering some strange delusions and a good night’s rest will be the perfect cure.  
She won’t even remember it in the morning, Bree is sure.

* * *

   
Bree is wrong.

It is important to note that Bree does not _like_ being wrong and absolutely _does not_ make a habit of it.

However, she simply  _cannot_ seem to stop thinking about that kiss on the cheek, perfunctory as it was.

She had been hoping that after a good night’s rest the whole matter would be displaced from her mind. It was, after all, hardly noteworthy. Certainly nothing to fret over. Yet, here she is doing exactly that. Bree cannot simply spend the rest of her days fretting, not if she wants to avoid wrinkles and worry lines anyway, so she does what any mature and emotionally aware person would do.

She elects to cover it up.

Much like removing a stain, Bree intends to bleach the problem away, so much so that it is no longer visible underneath the correction. Thus she goes on with her day as per usual: showers and get dressed, breakfast and the paper, shopping trip with Gabby, Pilates, errands, dinner, and settling down for the night with a new novel. Over the next few days, Bree manages to clean the whole house, finish all the laundry, prepare all the meals, and pay the bills. She tends to the garden, priding herself on her azaleas, and fills her car up with more gas. The world moves along and once everything is back to normal, Bree decides she can brave the weekly poker game.

“We all made mistakes in the ‘80s,” Edie laments as she raises the stakes on their card game.

“Don’t I know it,” Susan sighs while adding her own chips. “I had this God awful perm, I think I burned all the photographic evidence.”

Gabby mulls over her cards before raising. “I’m just grateful that the worse haircut I ever had was in grade school. Thank God I was a model with a stylist.”

“Oh you don’t count,” Lynette remarks, tossing a couple chips in to the pot. “You were still wearing Pampers in the 80s.”

Folding, Bree reaches for the bowl of popcorn. “I once got a wad of gum stuck in my hair when I was a little girl and my mother had to cut it out herself. I had to wear my hair in a ponytail for half a year.”

Laughter erupts at Lynette’s kitchen table and Bree excuses herself to make another pot of coffee. This weekly ritual might possibly be the best part of her week, a long held tradition she doesn’t even remember being established. It’s as if the world always worked this way, only varying with different women coming and going at the table, and whose house they played at depending on the week.

As the coffee brews in the background, Bree returns to the table to find that a new game is starting up with everyone drawing cards. A few more rounds pass and cups of coffee are shared before the participants wane, one by one, until it’s just Bree and Lynette left.

“Need a hand?” Bree asks, sidling up against the kitchen counter where Lynette is washing dishes.

Quiet minutes pass as Lynette submerges dishes, cutlery, and mugs in the soapy water, taking care to scrub them before handing them off to Bree. It’s routine but it’s nice, mindless, and comfortable. The house is still, which is a rare occurrence for Lynette, and Bree feels herself fall back into this easy rhythm.

“So,” there’s a tint in Bree’s voice that has Lynette raising an eyebrow at her. “What was your worst haircut? Surely you must have had one, everyone does.”

“Other than my hair throughout the entire 1980s, which need I remind you everyone wore?”

“Yes, other than that.”

Lynette passes off another coffee mug.

“Sorry to disappoint then but I never really had awful hair. I did dress like I was in Siouxsie and the Banshees for a while though so there’s that.”

Nearly dropping the mug she’s drying, Bree doesn’t even try to keep the laughter from her voice.

“I’m not sure what your definition of awful is but I’m starting to think you might have a more sordid history if you think 70s rocker hair isn’t awful.”

It really hadn’t looked terrible, or so Lynette thought at the time, but then she also thought flared jeans and crop tops were fashion staples so what does she know? Bree doesn’t see it this way though, not even trying to smother her amusement. Bree whose attention is focused entirely on drying a coffee mug, Bree who is standing right next to a sink full of big foamy soap bubbles. It doesn’t Lynette a second to think this is one of her best ideas to date. Only now, Lynette has held the pause too long so now Bree is looking over at her, wondering what’s turning over in Lynette’s mind, and when she figures it out she’s nothing short of horrified.

“Lynette, _no._ ”

Lynette scoops up two handfuls of soap. She looks so innocent.

“What are you talking about Bree?”

“I’m wearing _designer_.”

“Looks expensive.”

_“Please.”_

“Okay, okay,” Lynette says with surrender.

The second Bree lets out a relieved sigh, a moment of weakness, she finds she’s being assailed by bubbles. She’s not proud to admit she lets out a rather undignified squeal at the first splash.

 _“Lynette Scavo, I cannot believe you!”_ Bree cries out, bubbles stuck to her hair, wiping soap off her face.

“Whatchya gonna do about it, Van de Kamp?”

“I’ll _show you_ what I’m going to do!”

A small war breaks out in the Scavo kitchen just then. There’s bubble flying everywhere and tap water sloshing over the counter top. Lynette’s tactic of unrelenting spillage is definitely the more effective than Bree’s knee-jerk reaction to turn away from potentially getting soap in her eye. It’s once Lynette manages to get her hand on the faucet and practically hose down Bree that Bree throws both palms up in the air, facing toward Lynette.

“I give, I give!”

“Oh my god, Bree.” Lynette gasps while trying to catch her breath from between bouts of laughter. “I hope I didn’t ruin your outfit.”

“It’s just water; it’s fine.” The assurance comes between Bree’s own gasps. Head to toe, she’s soaked. She’s also breathless so she grips the kitchen counter to keep herself grounded.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“I can’t believe you fought back.”

“I didn’t know I had any other options. I mean unless you expected me to just stand there and take it.”

“Well, yeah. Kinda. I wasn’t sure if propriety or self-defence would win out.”

“I own four guns, Lynette. I’m more than equipped for defending myself.”

Lynette snorts at the remark. She finds the dish towel that was discarded mid-battle and wipes her hands on it then leans across to Bree to wipe her face clean.

For a few seconds Bree believes the world is spinning on its axis a whole lot slower than usual. She feels the cloth on her cheeks and catches Lynette’s eye. It’s as if she is simultaneously seeing Lynette for the first time and one millionth. The realization, abrupt and unwelcome as it is, has Bree in bout of dizziness.

“Hey Bree, are you okay?” Lynette’s question is riddled with concern but Bree like doesn’t her worrying so she gives her a sunny smile.

“Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“You just looked like you were going to pass out is all. You sure you’re fine?”

“Never better!” Bree assures as she steps from Lynette, almost losing her footing on the slippery kitchen floor.

“I do have to run home though, I have a hundred errands to run. And as much as I’d love to stay and help clean up, I think we’ve done quite enough damage together already,” she jokes and Lynette shrugs.

“Don’t let me hold you up then. Besides,” Lynette says while gesturing to the soaked countertops. “I’ve got some cleaning of my own to catch up on.”

Without looking back, Bree gathers up her jacket and heads out of Lynette’s house.

Standing in the sun, crossing from Lynette’s side of the street to her own, Bree lets the fabric of her shirt dry naturally. The water spot on her abdomen, which had seemed permanent only moments ago, was suddenly disappearing. Bree found herself wishing that could always be the case.

* * *

   
There’s a moment right before Bree wakes up every morning when her mind is still cloudy with sleep and she keeps her eyes closed just to let go of the world.

In this moment, short as it is, Bree is absolutely at peace.

It’s similar to the last ten minutes of yoga when the instructor says to imagine a warm ball of light travelling through your whole body, making you feel weightless. The day ahead will be a good day, Bree has been able to get back to a place where the good ones outweigh the bad, but she still likes this feeling of drifting.

She’s awaken 30 seconds later by footsteps.

“Andrew? Danielle?”

The kids are coming through the doorway with a tray of breakfast food in hand and gifts in the other. Breakfast consists of her favourites: eggs sunny side up, parfait, peach slices, bacon, and grapefruit juice. The present is rectangular and looks like the kids had someone else wrap, which is no problem at all, she just knows her kids have the gift-wrapping skills of a toddler with Crazy Kutters.

“Happy birthday!”

“Oh gosh, you children didn’t have to do this for me!” Bree exclaims, feeling a new kind of joy wash over her.

Things with both her children had been so strained during her separation from Rex and even more so after his death. She slowly was building back a relationship with Andrew after months of being apart, which she cherished dearly, and her relationship with Danielle was delicate at best but still present. Accepting the tray from Andrew and the gift from Danielle, Bree patted the empty spaces on the mattress beside her. Centred between her children, Bree thanked them and sampled the food. It certainly tasted delicious and she made sure to sing its praises. She imagined her children rooting around the kitchen in search of cooking materials and felt touched that they remembered her favourite breakfast. Sharing her plate with the kids, Bree took a moment to appreciate that while things may be rocky they were not helpless.

“I’m dying to see what you children got me,” Bree shares once her tray has been polished off. “May I open it now?”

“Yeah, it’s from both of us.” Danielle answers, handing over her mother’s present.

Carefully removing the paper, much to her children’s ribbing that there’s no need to be gentle with the gift wrap, Bree reveals a beautiful portrait of both Andrew and Danielle.

“You’re always saying that you wanted a new picture to put up on the wall, something more recent.” Andrew supplies when Bree doesn’t say anything at first.

“We wanted to do one with you but that kinda beats the point of a surprise,” Danielle adds.

There are tears in her eyes, Bree knows it but makes no effort to wipe them away as she winds both arms around her children.

“This is the perfect gift, you two. Thank you so much, I love it.”

Yes, Bree Van de Kamp was right. Today is one of the good ones.  
  
~  
  
Every year for Bree’s birthday she and a few friends would go out for dinner and stay overnight in a hotel room for a hiatus on life, an evening without the pressure to do anything but hang out and order room service. For Gabby’s birthday they all went for makeovers and the spa. For Susan’s they did a different activity every year. For Edie’s they went dancing and one year to Vegas. For Lynette’s they all had dinner then drove out to a nearby lake, laid down on blankets, and talked until midnight.

Most the time they would meet up the weekend before Bree’s birthday, although this year it fell on a Friday so they planned to get together that night. With this in mind, Bree handled all her regular day time activities before packing up her overnight bag that afternoon. The five of them—Bree, Susan, Edie, Lynette, and Gabby—were set to leave at 4pm so they’d have time to drive to their hotel, drop off their stuff, and get to the restaurant. They usually took two cars so as to accommodate for all their luggage—or rather, Gabby’s luggage—and they’d return the next afternoon.

They had a standing reservation at the same restaurant for the past how many years and they always tried to order different things than the time before. Often they would end up sharing, passing the food around the table to sample something from everything. The restaurant was a personal favourite for Bree, who loved how there was a dance floor available for patrons to use. After dinner and dessert had concluded, none of the girls made a rush for the door, content to remain seated and watch other customers spin in easy circles on the dance floor.

“We should dance,” Edie suggests simply.

“We don’t have partners,” Gabby points out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“We can take turns. Seriously, nobody’s going to lynch a few friends having fun.”

After a couple moments of deliberation, the girls decide that Edie is right. Gabby and Edie get up first, leaving their purses at the table, and fall into an easy two-step. Then, surprise surprise, no one else in the restaurant even bats an eye. When the song ends, Edie prompts Susan to join although she has zero intention of being her partner at all. Another song plays out as Susan and Gabby jokingly dance across the whole floor, acting like the caricature of two high school students at their first real dance.

“Come on,” Lynette’s offer rattles Bree, who’s watching her friends with an amused expression.

“To dance?”

Bree’s surprised by Lynette’s outstretched hand and eyebrows quirking in the direction of the dance floor.

“No, we’re going to dine and dash.” Lynette deadpans. “Yes, Bree. To dance.”

On her third drink, Edie waves the two of them away from the table, insisting that since Bree’s the birthday girl then she should be the one having a ball. With that sentiment in mind, Bree finds herself moving to a fast paced song, the band playing lively. The world spins around her in a blur of colours and sounds, speeding by. She sees Gabby and Susan laughing, bumping into each other as they fail to match the other’s improvised choreography, too busy being amused by their antics to notice her own balance, Bree nearly topples over on herself.

At the last second though, she feels someone reaching out to catch her.

“Whoa there, birthday girl.”

Coloured lights pass over Lynette’s face in rotation: red, blue, green. She’s smiling but there’s a touch of worry on her face, most likely because Bree can’t stay up on her own feet.

“I used to go dancing all the time in college.”

“Oh yeah?” Lynette tugs Bree closer and keeps her voice light. “In some seedy college dive bar? Coyote Ugly style?”

Bree’s response is a derisive scoff, “Hardly. About the dancing, anyway. I did venture into some pretty subpar establishments, certainly not up to health and safety code.”

Only Bree could go to a bar for fun and note all the ways in which it failed to be a safe and cleanly environment. It shouldn’t be funny, rather it should be annoying and boring and make Bree seem like a snob with a stick so far up her ass she’s shitting splinters. Except Lynette finds it comical and just keeps up with the pace of the band.

“And here I thought you could play Piper Perabo’s stunt double.”

“Am I led to assume that you spent your college years locked inside, burning the midnight oil night after lonely night?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Oh come on now!”

The exclamation slips out suddenly. Normally the statement would sound loaded and accusatory, however, the lilt in Bree’s voice is teasing.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Lynette retorts, a smirk on her face as Bree spins her away only to pull her back. Bree lets her cheek rest gently against Lynette’s temple, a smile on her face.

“You’re so confident and sure of yourself. I can just imagine you walking into a bar and having every person turn their head.”

“You really think so?”

Maybe it’s the surprise and curiosity that Bree catches in Lynette’s tone that sets her off. Maybe it’s how Lynette seems to be searching Bree’s expression for some kind of clue that makes Bree feel like she’s said too much. Maybe it’s Lynette swaying so close, too close, that’s making it impossible for Bree to keep her breathing regular. To be entirely truthful, Bree isn’t quite sure herself.

But at the risk of looking uncertain, Bree kicks her smile up a notch. It’s extra pleasant when she asserts, “Oh, of course. Ask anyone.”

* * *

   
“We’re separating.”

Lynette isn’t crying when she tells Bree but her eyes are bloodshot and she looks a lot worse for wear.

The Van de Kamp residence is empty mid-day, Bree working in the living room on the first draft of a cookbook she’s been thinking of, so Lynette doesn’t think anything of crossing through the front door threshold.

“You and Tom?” Bree’s question is rhetorical, of course. Who else would Lynette be talking about? Still, it’s jarring to think two people she considers friends can dissolve such a huge component of their lives together seemingly overnight.

“It was a long time coming,” Lynette admits as makes her way to Bree’s kitchen, taking a seat at the table. Bree slides into the adjacent seat and rests the palm of her hand on Lynette’s knee, tracing her thumb comfortingly.

“I just can’t believe it’s over. We made a promise to ourselves that we’d always make it work and we failed.”

Overwhelmed with empathy and sadness for her friend, Bree squeezes Lynette’s knee gently, murmuring a soft, _“Oh, honey.”_ There’s nothing else to say at this point, Lynette probably came over here to vent then try to move on. She’s strong that way, stronger than Bree, because even though Lynette struggles with asking for help she still manages to handle her issues headfirst.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?” Bree wonders while tucking some errant hair back behind Lynette’s ear.

Lynette simply gives her a sad, pained smile. “I don’t think so.”

“I figured as much,” the confession earns Bree a knowing look. “I’m so sorry that this happening though.”

Falling back against the wall behind her, Lynette squeezes her eyelids shut. “He said he thought we were falling out of love and I couldn’t tell him he was wrong.”

Her admission aches to voice, so much so that Lynette can’t find it in her to open her eyes. She doesn’t want to look at Bree and see any pity, she doesn’t want to look at herself and see a failure of a wife. Instead, Lynette sums all the strength in her to loll her head in Bree’s direction—eyes still closed—and ask:

“Do you ever think love isn’t enough?”

Immediately, Bree’s mind goes to her own family: Rex, Andrew, and Danielle. She thinks about Rex in the hospital and then in the ground, Andrew’s face in her rear-view mirror as she drove away, and every terrible fight she’s had with Danielle. Nothing hurt more than loving someone so much and to know it wouldn’t work out, it left a person feeling useless and worthless and absolutely self-loathing.

“I think we try our best given the circumstances and that love isn’t finite.”

Opening her eyes, Lynette takes a good, hard look at Bree.

“I love Tom but I’m scared I haven’t been in love with him for a while now.”

“I’m sure Tom loves you too, he always has.”

“That’s what makes this so hard. This would all be easier if we just hated each other’s guts or if we just didn’t care at all.”

“Don’t say that,” Bree hushes, patting Lynette’s knee. “There’s never anything wrong with loving someone, never apologize for caring. You know, I’ve always admired just how much you love and how well.”

For the first time today, Lynette offers a genuine smile, although it is only a trace.

“You’re a good friend, Bree Van de Kamp. I hope you know that.”

“Well, you make it very easy for me.”  
  
~  
  
In the wake of Tom and Lynette’s trial separation and consequential divorce, Bree does whatever it is she can to make things easier for Lynette. Sometimes this includes preparing dinner for her and the kids, other times it’s helping out around the house, more than once she has taken the children off Lynette’s hands for an afternoon, and sometimes she steps back and does nothing at all as to give Lynette the space she needs to handle some things on her own. Susan, Gabby, and Edie all show their support in different ways too, taking care to offer it whenever they think Lynette can use it. Most of the time this comes in the form of doing an activity together to keep Lynette’s mind on easier things to handle than the demise of her marriage. And as time goes on, Lynette begins to feel increasingly at peace until she’s well enough to consider herself ready to truly move on.

“I mean I’m not going to start dating any time soon,” Lynette expresses over lattes on the patio outside of a little café she, Bree, Gabby, and Susan are visiting.

“I just think I’m starting to feel more okay about the fact that my marriage blew up in my face, is all.”

“Well whenever you’re ready just say the word because trust me, I can hook you up with some hot, young eligible guy like that—” Gabby snaps her fingers to make her point.

It’s probably nothing but Bree doesn’t feel entirely comfortable with the prospect of Lynette getting over Tom by getting under some new guy.

“Seriously, though.” Susan chimes in playing the voice of reason. “You take all the time you need.”

“Maybe I should just quit men all together,” Lynette suggests after taking a swig of her drink.

Again, Bree feels strangely about this comment but opts not to dwell.

* * *

  
_“Oh God, Bree.”_

_A full body tremor and shakily expelled breath is punctuated with a curse word._

_“That feels so good, oh fuck. That feels amazing.”_

_Beneath her, Bree can feel the bedspread soft on her skin and the mattress moving jerkily with each desperate thrust. Rolling from her back to her front, Bree braces her knees on either side of two beautiful hips. She wants to trace the shape of them with her tongue, wants to know how they feel against hers, like a wave crashing in the ocean._

_“What do you want?” Bree asks as she feels her breasts being smothered in kisses._

_“I want you,” is the breathless response._

_Losing her hands in downy hair, Bree drops her head forward and murmurs, “I want you too.”_

_“You can have me.”_

_Bree takes the offer to heart, tipping her partner’s head back from her chest so they can make eye contact. There’s a lump in Bree’s throat the size of a peach pit and an undeniable heat between her thighs. She wants to say something profound, something poetic. Once she finds the words she can’t say them without grinning wildly; exhilarated by their authenticity and terrified of the potential fallout._

_“I love you, baby.”_

_Lynette smiles back._

_“I love you too.”_  
  
~  
  
Bree wakes up with dampness between her legs and fear in her heart.

Her thoughts spin madly in her mind and she can’t tear off her panties fast enough, mortified by the fine line of stickiness marring the crotch like a strike against her. _It was only a dream, it was only a dream._ Bree reminds herself of this as she shoves her underwear in the hamper basket, her body still warm from her dream. People have strange dreams all the time, they hardly mean anything. She isn’t going to be one of those quacks who buys a dream dictionary to interpret all sorts of ridiculous subconscious messages. No, that would be just plain silly. Instead, Bree hops into the shower and tries to rinse away the fantasy of Lynette’s teeth nipping at her earlobe and her palm inching down her abdomen until her fingers stopped just before where Dream Bree had wanted Lynette to press forward.

“This is fine,” Bree tells herself. “It’s just a new development to work through.”

The shower water rains down on her at a steady rate, refreshingly hot and welcoming. For a few minutes Bree tries to enjoy her shower peacefully but finds the effort rather moot since she can’t get her mind off of that dream. Worse, she can’t ignore the residual slickness she feels inside her.

 _“Oh god,”_ it comes out as groan not of pleasure but of disbelief. “How low have I sunk?”

Starting slowly, only one finger at first, Bree does something she hasn’t done in years.

Being married to Rex, Bree never needed to touch herself; she had a husband who loved sex as much as she did on retainer. After Rex died, Bree wasn’t really in the emotional place to want to do anything of a sexual nature, not even when George came more fully into the picture. Sure, she had sex with him but she had been feeling so beside herself with guilt and loneliness and just feeling lousy from the medicine that evening. Months after that, Bree had wanted to be intimate with Peter, if only to cement the one solid relationship she felt she had left in the world. But then, being with him sexually would have been catastrophic for both of them. Now, even months after the incident, Bree figures it’s normal to want release and as unfamiliar and seemingly pathetic it is to have to masturbate in the shower for a semblance of relief, she is willing to make the sacrifice. What other options does she really have?

There’s a grace period needed for Bree to get comfortable and reacquaint herself with her body. She isn’t use to her own fingers, which seems silly since it’s her body. Nonetheless, she carries on, letting herself create a rhythm. After some initial awkwardness it hardly takes any effort at all, still been slick from earlier, and Bree finds herself building her arousal up from simmering to boil. Then, right as she’s about to fall off the edge of oblivion, Bree smacks an open palm against the shower wall and screams.

Release and shower water washing over her, Bree feels a smile break out over her face. It had been amazing, contrary to her previous reservations. Even the fact that Bree couldn’t control the image of Lynette with her head thrown back, spine arching, and breasts heaving coming into her head a split-second before she climaxed won’t faze her post-orgasm bliss. Watching the water spiral down the drain, Bree has what must be the first of a serious breakthrough: she thinks maybe there’s a chance that’s there something more to all of this.

  
~  
  
Since her morning exploits, Bree cannot keep her attention focused on anything that isn’t 5”5, blonde, and her best friend.

Oh God, _Lynette is her best friend._

The realization comes too late, cropping up as Bree is helping Lynette carry groceries inside once Lynette’s returned home from work. They’re unpacking chicken breasts and linguine pasta when Bree realizes she climaxed at the mere thought of her best friend writhing beneath her in the throes of passion.

_Oh God._

* * *

  
It has been exactly seventeen days since the last time Bree has had an indecent thought about Lynette.

Opting to ignore the voice in her head, which sounds suspiciously like Peter, telling her that recovering addicts always remember the last time they had fix, Bree decides that she is not fixating on this Lynette thing. Namely because it is not a thing. They’re not a thing. Bree’s not even a gay and she’s going to take a wild guess that based on the years of faithful marriage to Tom and the four children they reproduced together that Lynette isn’t either.

Besides, even in some ridiculous world where both she and Lynette were gay that hardly means they would be attracted to one another. With this in mind, Bree finds it in her to carry about her regular activities, not even remotely distracted by the vividness of the dream in question, or the consequential shower, or the mini-stroke she had that same afternoon.

The day passes mostly without incident and Bree is feeling rather self-congratulatory so she celebrates with a second helping of dessert.

“See?” Bree says to herself as she crawls into bed that night. “Everything is under control.”  
  
~  
  
At 2am Bree wakes up with the comforter clinging to her and the sound of her own voice moaning Lynette’s name echoing in her mind. There’s a dark spot on her bed sheet that Bree can’t even look at.

She rolls over and picks up the phone on the nightstand.

“Hello, Dr. Goldfine? It’s Bree Van de Kamp. I understand that this is rather sudden but I was wondering if you were available to schedule an appointment.”  
  
~  
  
Two days after _The Incident_ , Bree finds herself sitting in the waiting area outside her therapist’s office. Three minutes before their appointment is booked to start, Dr. Goldfine waves Bree inside and lets her take a seat before he launches into conversation.

“So why the sudden need for an appointment, Bree? Not that I mind at all, it’s always okay to phone the office.”

Bree likes Dr. Goldfine. He’s polite, friendly, understanding, and although Bree often felt that she knew better than psychobabble, he somehow found a way to prove her wrong.

“Well the situation is rather complex” Bree admits sheepishly.

“Aren’t most?” The smile on Dr. Goldfine’s face lets Bree know that he’s teasing.

It does the trick, putting her mind at ease, and she nods when he suggests, “Why don’t we start at the beginning then?”  
  
~  
  
“You certainly were not exaggerating when you said it was complicated.”

Forty minutes have passed since they first sat down and Dr. Goldfine has given up taking notes all together. Instead he’s been focusing more on Bree’s body language and diction, the play of emotions on her face as she divulged details.

“You will be able to help me though, won’t you?”

“And what exactly do you think it is that you need help with?”

Confused, as if she’s pointing out the most obvious thing in the world, Bree asks Dr. Goldfine if he had been listening to her for the duration of their session.

“You once mentioned that your son is gay, is that right?”

“Well yes,” Bree admits. “But I fail to see how that’s relevant to the matter at hand, Doctor.”

“How do you feel about that?”

An expression of shame and guilt pass over Bree’s face and her tone shifts.

“I didn’t handle the situation as gracefully as I could have but I was only looking out for his best interest.”

“I’m sure you were,” Goldfine agrees gently. “Why were you looking out for him? Did you have some reason to be scared for him?”

“I was raised to believe that homosexuality is a sin and I wanted Andrew to go to Heaven.”

“Wanted?”

“Andrew says he was born this way and I trust him even if it’s difficult to think that way about God and the Church. I made mistakes as a mother, awful mistakes that I wish I could take back, and I realize now that while I might not ever be good at this gay thing at least I can spend the rest of my life trying.”

It takes a lot out of Bree to talk about this at all, especially in front of someone who has already seen her so vulnerable. Thankfully she trusts Dr. Goldfine even if she doesn’t necessarily understand his line of questioning. She takes a sip of water from the glass he’d offered her at the beginning of their session.

“Bree,” Goldfine starts to which Bree makes a sound of acknowledgement mid-swig. “Is there any chance that you have _feelings_ for this friend of yours?”

Then—and with an embarrassing lack of tact—Bree spits up her water on herself.

_“Are you mentally sound?!”_

“Yes but then I’m the psychiatrist so I’m a bit biased, don’t you think?”

“Do you really mean to ask me if I’m _gay?_ Because I can assure you, I’m not. I was married for 18 years for God’s sake! I have _children!_ ”

Dr. Goldfine patiently accepts the damp tissue from Bree to toss in the wastebasket by his desk. “Gay people can be married and have children, Bree.”

The argument earns him a scoff, not malicious but rather disbelieving. He tries another approach.

“Okay, so you’re not gay. Why are you here today?”

“What do you mean?”

“You just spent the last forty five minutes talking about a woman who you consider a close friend, who you comfort when she’s hurt and take care of when she’s sick and who clearly means a lot to you.”

Defensive setting turned on, Bree sits up straighter in her seat, which Goldfine didn’t think was possible until she somehow managed it.

“That’s what friends do. I should hope that people care for their friends.”

“Do people also lose sleep over kisses on the cheeks and fantasize about making love with their friends?”

It’s clear the question struck a chord with Bree, whose expression has gone hard and firm, as if she’s put on a mask. Goldfine wonders if maybe she has, self-preservation and a shock to her system of personal beliefs and values. The fear that he’s pushed Bree too far is at the centre focus for Goldfine and he has next to no time to come up with a way for Bree not to meltdown.

 _“No,”_ Bree’s reply comes out slow, tentative. “Most friends don’t do that, do they?”

Crisis averted.

“We can schedule another appointment,” Goldfine offers, relieved that Bree no longer looks as if she’s going to suffer from a psychological breakdown. “If you think you need it.”

Collecting her purse and jacket, Bree nods and passes him a folded check.

“Yes please, I’ll call you. Thank you for meeting with me, Doctor.”

“Any time. If you need anything you know the number.”

* * *

  
_Denial (Psychology): an unconscious defense mechanism used to reduce anxiety by denying thoughts, feelings, or facts that are consciously intolerable._

Frowning at the neatly printed definition in the tattered dictionary she never thought to get rid of, Bree looks at the page as if it has personally offended her. Ever since her appointment with Dr. Goldfine the other day she has been turning his words over in her mind, a vicious cycle of her grasping at something barely out of reach. She thinks she’s far too old for a crises of sexuality anyway, shouldn’t this have been something worked out in adolescence? Andrew comes to mind immediately, forcing Bree to remember that awful visit to Camp Hennessey. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, although Rex had handled the situation much better than she had, Bree can admit that much, but he too had hoped it would only be a phase.

_Heaven will be so lonely without you._

Shame is not something Bree is unfamiliar with. She wasn’t lying when she told Dr. Goldfine that she had made mistakes. If Andrew was born queer then Bree could roll with it. Admittedly things had been easier for her to swallow when put in perspective. Andrew’s sexuality was so negligible on the laundry list of things Bree was concerned about when it came to her son; she had been too preoccupied with stopping the emancipation and keeping his delinquency at bay. Then along came Justin, Andrew’s special friend, and the question of how two boys could love each other the way only a man and woman should didn’t even cross Bree’s mind when Justin said he was in love; she was simply stunned that her son was capable of opening himself up enough to be loved.

After Justin’s declaration of love for her son, Bree realized she had found herself an ally. Their motives were shared: Andrew’s well-being. When that was made clear it became significantly easier to accept that Andrew and Justin had feelings for one another and that those feelings were not inherently horrible. Andrew still believed that Bree hated him for his sexuality although that was not the truth and Bree had nothing to say on the matter, shocked by how—after everything he had done—he could still try to be the victim. It did ache though, having this irrefutable evidence that she had failed her son that no one could twist. She hadn’t supported him when he told her he was gay and she never made herself emotionally available to him, nor had she made him believe that she was someone to talk about it with. It felt like another failure tallied up against her and she held it against herself.

Then he came home days after her aborted honeymoon and it was something close to a fresh start. She apologized profusely and Andrew told her that she had instilled some sense of a moral compass. Days later, when she prompted Andrew to give Justin a call to catch up, Andrew had stared at her with such stark disbelief that Bree was afraid she’d somehow grown a second head. But he did end up calling Justin, the two deciding to meet up to hang out. It was difficult trying to define a line, learning what the boundaries were after everything that had blown up in their faces, but Bree thought inviting Justin over again may be an acceptable olive branch to offer.

Now that so much time has passed, however, things are starting to look up. Bree still wonders where God and religion come into play with being gay but she’s not condemning anyone to Hell any time soon either. It’s a system of checks and balances, she thinks.

“Hey mom,” Andrew’s voice breaks her from her reverie. She looks up and sees him the doorway with cordless phone in hand. “Call for you.”

Firmly closing the book and leaving it on the coffee table, Bree crosses the room to accept the phone from her son.  
  
~  
  
“Did you have plans?”

It’s the first thing out of Bree’s mouth when Lynette opens the door because it’s not every day she sees Lynette in formal attire. She looks lovely always, of course, but the fabric of the dress moulds to her like it was made for her and it complements her colouring amazingly. Her hair is rolled and she’s wearing pantyhose with heels that make her the same height as Bree.

“Gabby set me up on a date.”

Something in Bree’s brain hiccups for half a second.

“Oh and how was that?”

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Lynette supplies as she turns on a heel toward the kitchen, Bree following a step behind. “I didn’t go.”

Bree’s attention snaps from Lynette’s lower back, which is visible due to the backless dress.

“Why not?”

Lynette shrugs, impossibly nonchalant. “I changed my mind. I guess I’d rather stay in and order takeout. I thought maybe you’d like to join; my treat.”

Takeout is not something Bree has had in easily a decade. Nonetheless, Lynette has pulled out a couple folded up menus for different restaurants. She splays them out in a spectrum before Bree, who chooses Chinese.

“Not to be to invasive but do you honestly prefer takeout alone to a date?”

“I’m not alone,” Lynette corrects while passing Bree a glass of water. “You’re here.”

“Astute observation,” is Bree’s curt reply. She accepts the drink but doesn’t relent from her inquisition.

“Now how terrible is this man that you won’t even spend an evening with him?”

The pair make it to the couch where they take up opposite ends. Lynette pulls off her shoes as she answers, “He’s actually a pretty great guy: successful, charming, witty, body of a God.”

Bree nods slowly, trying and failing to understand.

“Lynette, I’m sorry but you’re really going to have to start making sense sometime soon or else I’m going to assume that you’ve suffered serious head trauma.”

“Always the extremist.”

“I don’t understand why, if this man is as wonderful as he seems, you’re here with me instead of out with him.”

There isn’t an immediate answer as Lynette is busy unrolling her pantyhose, which is not at all distracting and tempting and any other number of words that comes into Bree’s mind as she watches inch after inch of Lynette’s bare skin being revealed.

“I have someone else in mind.”

Her confession throws Bree for a loop and on an entirely unrelated note, she thinks her heart just skipped a beat and that doesn’t seem especially healthy. All the same, she’s overwhelmed with the sudden desire to find out who this mystery love interest is. Clearly not for any other reason than Lynette is one of her dearest friends and thus Bree cares about who she’s seeing or intends to be seeing though. If Susan or Gabby were seeing someone new, or expressed interest in doing so, Bree would undoubtedly be equally invested.

“So who is it?”

Bree’s eagerness earns her an exaggerated eye roll.

“Does it really matter?” Lynette shoots back and for her trouble earns herself an unimpressed expression.

With her hands up and palms out, Lynette fakes a surrendering position.

“Okay, okay but don’t tell Gabby or Susan because they won’t shut up about for the rest of my life. Anyway, she’s this friend of mine and I think she’s got feelings for me too but God only knows so I couldn’t commit to dinner plans tonight just to lead some poor guy on, it wouldn’t be right.”

_She’s._

_She’s._

_She’s._

The word sticks in Bree’s brain, stealing her attention. Frozen in Lynette’s living room, she doesn’t know how to respond. She’s never been great with this sort of thing and it’s not helping that the only coherent thought coming into Bree’s mind right now is _Lynette said “she’s.”_

“Earth to Bree! Anybody in there?”

There are two fingers snapping in front of Bree’s face, forcing her back into reality.

“Are you having a stroke? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“No,” Bree replies in a voice that reminds her too much of her response to Dr. Goldfine during their most recent session. “I think I heard you wrong. Did you say this friend is a _she?”_

Corner of her lip twisting down, defenses going up, Lynette juts her jaw up the slightest bit.

“Yeah, I did. Is there something wrong with that?”

Bree feels herself coming back from shock, suddenly aware of how her reaction may not inspire comfort and relief in someone who just revealed that they’re gay to someone who once thought gay people were going to Hell.

“Of course not! I just didn’t think, didn’t know that you were, well that you were gay.”

As if assessing how safe it is to continue, Lynette takes care with her reply, prepared to watch Bree’s reaction for some indication that a WASP Republican might not be okay with her being queer.

“It’s not something I usually announce when I meet someone and you know, it never really came up before. I mean I love men, I just feel the same about women.”

“Well that’s great then!” Bree’s announcement is accompanied by a clap, her expression still a bit shocked but not disgusted or devastated like Lynette had feared it may have been.

It does still seem to strange to Lynette how well Bree is taking this new information so she can’t help but to ascertain that she’s okay with this.

“You’re sure? Because I understand if you still have reservations.”

“You’re one of my closet friends, Lynette. I support you no matter and I’m sure this friend of yours is a wonderful woman. If she has any sense at all she’ll be with you in a heartbeat.”

The combination of Bree’s kind words and sure smile lifts a huge weight off of Lynette’s shoulders. Relieved, she reaches for the takeout menu and hands it off to Bree.

“Okay, great! So what are we ordering?”  
  
~  
  
“Thank you.”

The words catch Bree off guard. After sliding the dough for a loaf of bread that she’s making into the preheated over, Bree turns around to face Lynette, who’s sitting in her kitchen.

“Whatever for?”

“You know,” Lynette starts but Bree does not know so she has to elaborate. “You were really good about the bisexual thing the other night. I’m not going to lie; I was kinda scared that you wouldn’t be so accepting.”

Shaking her head, Bree refreshes Lynette’s coffee with one hand while the other rests on the countertop.

“I’ve come a long way, I’ll have you know. I know it’s not a choice, it’s just who you are, and I just so happen to like who you are.”

Gently, Lynette places her hand atop Bree’s free one. Surprised and pleased with the quiet but sweet gesture, Bree tries to keep herself from flushing, afraid that if her skin goes pink then she might give something away. Yet she can’t seem to resist rubbing her thumb against Lynette’s, the faintest touch followed up with a pleasant smile.

It’s the front door swinging open, accompanied by Susan’s voice calling out that everyone is here for cooking lessons, which has Lynette withdrawing her hand a moment later.

Bree’s definitely going to need another appointment with Dr. Goldfine.

* * *

   
Bree Van de Kamp has been sure of many things in her life.

She was sure she wanted to be class president and valedictorian and she was, she was sure she wanted to marry Rex Van de Kamp and she did, she was sure she wanted to be a mother and she is. Certainty is something that Bree is good at but it’s when that sense of surety turns out to be wrong that’s when Bree is left with this feeling she’s never known how to classify. For the sake of convenience she calls this feeling “oh.”

Some might call this feeling “realization” or “disbelief” or even “reluctant acceptance” but not Bree. Bree calls it “oh” because that’s about all she can say when it dawns on her.

It also happens to be the singular feeling that takes her over one Saturday morning while she’s tending her garden.

Bree looks up from her flowerbed to find Lynette approaching her lawn with a smile on her face. Bree has seen this exact same smile hundreds of times before. It’s a pretty standard smile, as far as smiles go. Lynette’s not euphoric but she’s in good spirits, there’s even a spring in her step. She’s wearing blue jeans and white t-shirt, a few strands of sunny blonde hair escaping the braid that probably started out perfect a couple hours ago but has been mused up by the morning’s activities. Nothing particularly noteworthy is happening today, Lynette is probably coming over to say hello and talk while the kids are playing on the lawn, yet something shifts into place for Bree. It’s like feeling a tectonic plate move and your world shakes.

She’s in love with Lynette.

_Oh._

“Hey, how’s it going?” Lynette asks, now standing only a few feet away. She cranes her neck a bit to see the flowers, which are coming in well. “The garden looks great.”

“Thank you!” Bree’s reply sounds strange to her own ears but Lynette doesn’t seem fazed at all. Then, rather than quitting while she’s ahead, Bree keeps on prattling.

“I’m trying this new fertilizer and a different watering technique so I’m hoping it turns out well.”

With a teasing smile, Lynette nods along.

“Sounds thrilling, Bree. You must have been popular in school.”

“I was voted queen of homecoming court.”

“I know, I’ve seen your yearbook. You looked like one of those mini-brides on top of a wedding cake.”

“Well I’ve seen your yearbook too. We’ve all got our transgressions.”

“Ouch!”

Unable to help herself, Bree feels herself cracking up once Lynette starts laughing. It’s infectious and light and only marginally terrifying that she can find humour in a moment like this. After all, Bree has just realized that she has _feelings_ for her neighbour and one of closest friends, who just so happens to be a woman. It’s more than a little daunting to have that kind of revelation right in front of someone, especially when that someone is the person you have feelings for. So what else can Bree do but act natural? She can’t run the risk of Lynette finding out about this new interest of hers; it would surely irreparably damage their friendship. Besides, until about five minutes ago Bree was perfectly content to spend the rest of her life ignoring the tiny, nagging voice in the back of her head that repeated Dr. Goldfine’s words like clockwork: _is there any chance that you have feelings for this friend of yours?_

“Awful high school memories aside, I was wondering if you were going to Edie’s barbeque next weekend? She put in a new a pool and wants to show it off.”

Edie had mentioned something to Bree a few days ago about throwing a “little get together” but “little” was not something that anyone would ever associate with Edie Britt. If she were going to have a party she’d invite the whole block, except maybe Susan, although she may if only because she’s invited Mike and Julie. Bree had been happy to accept and offered to make a dish for the party. She had intended to make a quiche although Edie shot down that idea pretty immediately. _“It’s a party, Bree! Live a little!”_ Edie exclaimed, advising Bree that if she really wanted to be Miss. Betty Homemaker than baked goods were fine but honestly, everyone else would be bringing chips and veggie trays. So Bree has every intention of making lemon squares, which have always been a hit at block parties.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good,” Lynette nods approvingly but before she can say anything else she’s interrupted by a loud scream:

_“MOM, PORTER STOLE MY SKATEBOARD!"_

Pulling a comically frustrated face, Lynette turns around to face her own property and screams back:

_“PORTER GIVE YOUR BROTHER BACK HIS SKATEBOARD! I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’RE EVEN GOING OVER THIS STILL.”_

“So I’ll see you around?” Lynette asks after she’s returned her attention to Bree, smiling apologetically.

Bree just nods.  
  
~  
  
Bree must have done something very wrong in a past life to be tortured this way.  
  
It’s a glorious summer afternoon, absolutely idyllic, and everyone on Wisteria Lane is gathered in Edie Britt’s backyard to christen her new pool. Friends and neighbours are chatting amicably, passing around paper plates and plastic utensils full of potluck contributions, and drinking in the Sears catalogue that is life in suburbia. Truly, Bree should be having a delightful time but instead she cannot keep her eyes off of Lynette.

“Lookin’ good, girlie.” Gabby praises, pulling down her designer sunglasses so they rest on the bridge of her nose. “I love the outfit.”

She looks appraisingly at Lynette, who is shrugging out of a sheer bathing suit cover up to reveal a solid coloured two piece. The compliment earns Gabby a derisive scoff from Lynette as she smears a generous amount of sunblock on her arms and legs. It must be over-exposure to the sun that is driving Bree into this fevered state. On some level, distantly and deep in her subconscious, Bree is aware that Susan is asking Lynette where she bought her new suit and how good it looks on her. It takes every ounce of Bree’s renowned self-control to keep herself from salivating and it certainly doesn’t help matters that Lynette is _oblivious_ to how out of whack her hormones are because one of her best friend’s makes sun safety into soft-core pornography.

“Oh hey Bree, did I get all my back?”

The question makes Bree’s throat run dry. Out of muscle memory alone, Bree finds herself nodding in agreement. She’s reminded of how she accepted George Williams’ marriage proposal for fear of appearing rude. Obviously Bree is only being polite when she takes the bottle of sun tan lotion and squirts a dollop into one palm.

“Can you believe what a success this party is?” Susan asks as she spears a cube of watermelon with a toothpick.

“Yeah, the whole neighbourhood’s here,” Gabby agrees while sipping her margarita. “You gotta hand it to her: Edie sure knows how to throw one helluva party.”

Conversation floats by Bree and she smiles pleasantly, if not absentmindedly, as she rubs the small of Lynette’s back in small, rhythmic circles. It takes a pleasured noise escaping the back of Lynette’s throat to refocus Bree’s attention on literally anything but her friend’s partial nudity.  
Turning her head back around to face Bree, Lynette eyes her, noticing the faint blush high on her cheekbones and the almost pained expression of concentration on the other woman’s face.

“Uh, am I all good back there?”

“Oh yes,” Bree assures too quickly to sound natural but Lynette won’t push the matter in front of everyone else.

“You’re perfectly protected. It’s a good thing you got SPF40 for fairer complexions; I always burn to a crisp.”

It takes three glasses of lemonade and a trip to the bathroom—an unfortunate but expected consequence of the sheer amount of juice and sugar Bree’s just ingested—for her to calm down and collect herself. Upon her return to the party, she manages to put aside her distracting thoughts of Lynette long enough to have a wonderful afternoon. It’s not until Susan is beckoning Lynette to the pool to play a round of Chicken Fight that Bree feels that familiar sense of dread and excitement inch up her spine. After some cajoling, Susan manages to get Lynette in the pool and on the shoulders of one of Mike’s buddies. The next ten minutes are spent staring at Lynette with those two soaked pieces of fabric clinging to her in such a tempting way that Bree is thinking of tomorrow morning’s mass and all the impure thoughts she’s going to have to own up to.

As the day carries out the guests start to dwindle, only a few people are left behind. Gabby and Edie are putting away leftovers in the kitchen while Lynette and Bree are cleaning up the backyard. The two chat as they clean, simple conversation unspooling between them, they start discussing the pool party end up talking about politics and are now on the topic of Lynette’s new bathing suit.

“I don’t know if I told you earlier but that colour looks lovely on you.”

It’s not a lie, in fact it’s very much the opposite; Bree just can’t think of a polite way to tell Lynette that she looks like sin. For her effort, Bree is rewarded with a smile. Passing a cup of water off to Bree, Lynette takes up one of the chaise lawn chairs.

“Thanks, that’s some high praise coming from someone who looks like a centerfold.”

Taking the seat next to her friend, Bree rolls her eyes and has a sip of her drink. “I think that might be pushing it.”

“Oh c’mon Bree, you’re not so oblivious that you can’t see that you’re ridiculously attractive. Frankly, it’s kinda insulting.”

“Insulting?”

“How are mere mortals expected to compete when all you have to do is roll out of bed in the morning to look like you spent hours in hair and makeup?”

In a far cry from the ladylike, Bree scoffs at the comment, which only results in Lynette raising an eyebrow at her rather pointedly.

“The fact that you think _I’m_ oblivious is a little rich.”

Sitting up in her seat, Lynette challenges, “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you’ve proven my point for me,” Bree teases as she pushes herself up off her chair.

Bree realizes now that although she was referring to Lynette’s attractiveness that there are things Lynette seems somewhat oblivious too as well. The power she wields over her, for example, and all these newfound feelings that Bree is struggling to simultaneously understand and keep under wraps. She’s not use to this level of secrecy in their friendship, which seems impossible considering the things that they’ve hidden from one another, as well as their other friends. It just never felt this intimate before. Lying about how strong a marriage is or hiding transgressions of children, Bree has found, are not loaded in the same way.

This feels more dangerous somehow, perhaps since it feels like Bree is tipping scales in their relationship. She knows something that Lynette doesn’t that immediately effects both of them because if Bree keeps feeling this way then she’s going to be working double duty to hide it from Lynette. For the time being it’s the only feasible option Bree can think of, at least until she can manage to stop herself from thinking this way. It is times like these that Bree is especially proud of her sense of self-control.

* * *

  
The realization that her trademark iron will, which had tided through so many instances of temptation before, is failing is not only upsetting but Bree is positive it will result in worry-lines.

In other news, Bree cannot stop kissing Lynette.

It’s nothing perverse or strange, except perhaps the alarming increase in frequency. Her kisses are quick and chaste; just a peck on the cheek here or a smile that turns into a press of lips against the temple there. No one seems to notice either or if they do no one is commenting on it and why would they? Bree and Lynette have kissed each other’s cheeks before as an act of friendship, to that end all the girls have. The thing about kissing Lynette, however, is that Bree finds herself reapplying her lipstick before meeting up with her. She also keeps finding occasions to close the space between them, narrowing the world down to only the two of them whether they’re on Lynette’s front porch or in the supermarket parking lot. The whole world doesn’t disappear when Bree gives Susan an air kiss hello or leans forward to kiss Gabby’s cheek goodbye.  
Unable to stop overthinking this, Bree drops her head back against the headrest in her car and directs her attention to some vague approximation of where Heaven might be.

“God are you testing me?”

God doesn’t say anything back.

“If this was your plan then you’re doing a bang-up job so far,” she complains as she squeezes her eyes closed.

Bree is alone in the vehicle, which is parked in her garage. She’s just gotten back from her workout and running errands so she should probably go inside to get ready for a little party Susan and Mike are hosting, but Bree can’t seem to make herself move.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, you know.”

Again, no verbal response. It’s almost starting to feel rude.

“Of all the people it had to be her didn’t it? You sure do work in mysterious ways.”

Silently, Bree stays seated in her car for five, ten, fifteen minutes just staring at the roof wondering when her life took such massive turn. Needless to say, she had never thought she would find herself sitting in a parked car musing over at what point in someone’s life it’s possible to realize that who you thought you were was wrong all along. Yet here Bree is, her seatbelt still strapped on and keys in the ignition, asking God why on earth He would make her fall head over heels for one of her best friends.

“Well do you think you could at least do me a favour?”

It might be presumptuous to give God pointers but Bree is well past the point of caring.

“Could you just _do_ something? I mean this was _your_ plan wasn’t it? You should take some responsibility for it.”  
  
~  
  
As a young girl growing up, Bree often heard her mother say that sometimes God doesn’t answer people’s prayers because He knows better. This sentiment had done very little for Bree as a child, who thought that if she asked for something nicely and behaved herself then good things should happen. Some people called it karma, others called it reward, but Bree’s mother called it fate. After her mother died, however, Bree questioned fate. She wondered why, if God loved everyone, people died. People who loved everyone else too, for that matter, such as her mother. Bree’s father had tried to supply an answer, explaining that God had a plan and that plan just so happened to include calling Bree’s mother back to Heaven so that she could be with Him and the angels and all of Bree’s mother’s family.

Unsurprisingly, this did not offer much solace for a young Bree Mason either. But as Bree grew she slowly began to embrace fate again. She called it fate whenever something good happened, a reminder of her mother, like a touchstone she could hold on to when she wished her mother was alive to celebrate with her. Bree considered her meeting Rex to be fate, as well as their consequential marriage and children. She too considered her good health and fortune, loving friends, and success in life to be fate. In fact there are many things that Bree chalks up to fate, one of which takes place on an otherwise unremarkable Sunday afternoon.  
  
~  
  
“Yeah, I went with a bunch of girlfriends on Spring Break one year. Loads of fun, I came back with a tattoo and a sunburn that lasted months.”

Lynette juggles regaling Bree with details of her more rebellious college years while snacking on an ice-cream cone. The two of them were taking a walk through a strip of the Fairview fashion district and had stopped in a shop for something to eat, which had resulted in sampling every flavour of ice-cream the establishment had to offer. It was such a beautiful day out that they decided to enjoy their food outside on the patio furniture. In the midst of explaining a close encounter with a sting-ray and a lifeguard of questionable scruples, Lynette manages to smear a bit of ice-cream on her face. Reaching across the table with a napkin, Bree laughs while wiping clean her friend’s chin. Lynette pulls a face but doesn’t move away as Bree fixes her up.

Ultimately, Bree isn’t sure what exactly makes this moment The Moment but once she realizes that this is, in fact, The Moment, she’s helpless to pass it up.

Abdomen pressed against the edge of the table, the hand previously cleaning ice-cream off of Lynette’s face now dropping uselessly to her side, Bree feels her neck craning closer toward Lynette and the eventual soft pressure of her lips on Lynette’s.

Oxygen escapes her immediately and it sends an alert to Bree’s brain telling her to do anything. Except the message ends up getting lost in translation so Bree’s body shuts down long enough to go on auto-pilot. Lips surging forward, only barely since there’s so little space between her and Lynette now, Bree realizes distantly that she’s kissing Lynette more thoroughly and easily. There’s a bizarre sense of naturalness to the act of kissing her friend on the mouth that Bree simply does not possess the higher thought process required to analyze. It’s as if her body knows what to do without any instruction and she’s just this puppet that enacts the behaviour. For a good, long moment, Bree feels somewhat distant to herself. On one level she knows what she’s doing but it’s buried too deep below a veneer of disbelief and denial that she can’t fully acknowledge it.

Feeling her eyelids flutter open, Bree is face-to-face with Lynette, who she is stunningly aware of.

And there is _a lot_ to be aware of.

How soft Lynette’s lips are, for starters. As well as the sweet scent of soap and the how long and light her eyelashes look. There’s also the barely there weight of Lynette’s palm on Bree’s hand and the slow but sure graze of her tongue against Bree’s lips. Awed, Bree feels her jaw drop, which Lynette interprets as an invitation. Not that Bree is complaining, oh no, she accepts the new sensation with what should probably be frightening enthusiasm except Bree can’t really put a full, coherent thought together right now given the presence of Lynette’s tongue in her mouth and the fact she kissed in her in the first place. No, Bree doesn’t really have any brain power to dedicate to any outside of kissing Lynette with equal, uninhibited fervor.

“Why are you stopping?”

The question bubbles off of Bree’s lips the second Lynette pulls back, only a fraction but enough so that they’re two separate bodies again and not joined as much as physically possible with a table between them.

“I think I’m having a heart attack,” Lynette replies with two fingertips flying to her neck to check her pulse.

Although blown away by her own actions, Bree can’t help but ask, “Was it that bad?”

In any other circumstances (i.e. if Lynette had a brain cell left that wasn’t just annihilated from over-heated stimulation), Lynette would have rolled her eyes and offered a snarky response. Right now, however, she’s too busy trying to recover from the shock of making out with Bree to provide her trademark banter.

“ _Bad_ actually isn’t on the vocab list of words I’d use to describe this, Bree.”

“Then what is?”

“Oh, I don’t know: unbelievable, shocking, surprising, insane, earth-shattering. Pick your favourite.”

“I was going for _good_ but I see that doesn’t belong in your vernacular.”

Maybe it’s the clipped nature of Bree’s reply that snaps Lynette back into reality or simply that her heart-rate has had a moment to return to a normal, healthy, not dangerously quick pace, but Lynette manages to respond.

“Yeah probably because it was _way_ better than good.”

Bree is startled by the answer, although Lynette figures it was the one she was looking for given the last thing she said. Nonetheless, Lynette looks at Bree like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and Bree wonders why she can’t think of a single eloquent thing to say.

“I’m glad you thought so. You’ll have to give me a moment to think of a word that adequately expresses that—” Bree struggles with the right word, considering using “kiss” but then settling on _“that.”_

Lynette, now completely over her initial shock, comes back with, “So do you mind letting me know what the hell was going through your head right then?”

“You had ice-cream on your face.”

Bree’s simple explanation has Lynette in disbelief, her eyes wide and expression confused.

“Yeah, okay, so your first reaction was to get to first base?”

“You don’t have to make it sound so crude,” Bree reprimands, her propriety beating out her surprise at herself. “It was just a kiss.”

At the sound of laughter spilling from Lynette, Bree feels herself flush although she can’t quite tell if discomfort or arousal is to blame. Likely, both.

“And just what is so hilarious, might I ask?”

“Nothing,” Lynette answers though Bree’s indignant expression tells her to elaborate. “If that was just a kiss I’m afraid if we try anything more you just might kill me.”

Lynette’s silly smile warms Bree inside out in a flash, replacing any ounce of doubt in herself and her actions with a sense of relief and excitement.

“Is that something you want to do again?”

Lynette raises an eyebrow, a silent request for Bree to address this head-on.

“I mean I don’t want to send you into cardiac arrest but I do know a wonderful cardiologist so—” cutting herself off, Bree leans over the table again, feeling her shirt ride up in the back the slightest bit.

“I’m going to kiss you again” she whispers so close to Lynette’s lips that she can nearly taste her lip-gloss. “So please don’t have a stroke.”  
  
~  
  
To both Bree and Lynette’s great surprise no one has a medical emergency while making out like teenagers.

In the days succeeding their first kiss, the two of them manage to kiss at every available opportunity that presents itself. The number of flat surfaces they’ve been able to make-out against seems countless and the list doesn’t have an end in sight. Somewhere between the reapplication of lipstick and catching of breath, Bree and Lynette find a chance to talk about what the hell is happening between them.

“I feel like I just ran a marathon,” the confession comes out in a gasp as Lynette slides her palm down from the cups of Bree’s bra to her ribcage and stomach.

“This is more of a workout than Pilates,” Bree agrees, her upper body going limp against Lynette.

“As much as I hate to ask—namely because in the span of a few short days you have proven time and time again that there are much better things we can be doing with our mouths—I feel we should probably talk about this.”

The “this” Lynette is speaking about is accompanied by an awkward hand gesture waving between her and Bree. Sensing that the general mood of the moment has shifted, Bree pulls herself into a more upright position and tugs down her shirt then looks to Lynette expectantly.

“I just want to make sure that we’re on the same page and that there are open lines of communication established,” Lynette starts and Bree nods along, allowing Lynette to get her thoughts out.

“Because I really like this but we should probably know what we both want out of this, right?”

“Well I for one would prefer any option that enables us to continue kissing,” Bree expresses in a tone that is so wildly inappropriate from a casual conversation about boundaries and relationship potential that it’s laughable.

“Okay, how about getting dinner sometime?”

The offer makes Bree smile. She and Lynette have had dinner together so many times before but this one will undoubtedly be special.

“As long as you don’t have to spill on yourself to make me kiss you then that sounds lovely,” Bree teases to which Lynette responds with a scoff.

“If I recall correctly I wasn’t the one who mauled you in broad daylight on a busy street downtown to swap saliva.”

“You make it sound so grotesque! It certainly wasn’t my most well thought and carefully executed plans but it was hardly an assault—besides, you weren’t issuing any complaints at the time.”

“Trust me when I say I am not complaining. Unless the fact that this is may be the longest amount of time we’ve gone without making out has managed to escape your attention, I am extremely _in favour_ of everything related to you, especially your mouth.”

Although Bree rolls her eyes to pretend as if she’s not humoured by Lynette’s joking, her fingers combing through Lynette’s hair gives her away.

“You know I normally don’t kiss until the second date. Sometimes the first.”

“You must find me irresistible then,” Lynette comments as she inches her hand up Bree’s thigh.

Bree’s gaze meets Lynette’s and her whole demeanor softens. “You have no idea.”

“I’m just grateful you caved first.”

The admittance comes as a surprise to Bree, who looks at Lynette with confusion all over her face.

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I mean that if I had to go one more day wondering if you liked me too I was going to have an aneurysm and I don’t really have time for that in my schedule.”

It should not come as a shock to Bree that Lynette has feelings for her, primarily because they have spent the past few days groping like a couple of high schoolers, yet hearing the words from Lynette herself stops Bree short.

“You like me?”

Lynette rolls her eyes, “What gave me away?”

Backhanding her, although rather gently, Bree makes a disapproving noise.

“I’m being serious. How long have you felt this way?”

“Ball park figure?”

When Bree nods Lynette matches it.

“A couple months before Tom and I split. I didn’t think much of it, I figured it was just a passing crush.”

“But now you think what exactly?”

“That I really can’t wait to have that dinner with you.”

“I never thought you’d feel the same way.”

The confession comes out before Bree can stop it and she feels Lynette’s hand move from her thigh to her forearm.

“I didn’t even think I liked you at first, I tried to ignore it.”

“It can be rough developing feelings for a friend,” the assurance is heartfelt, Bree knows, because Lynette just admitted to feeling the same way. “It’s scary thinking about what might change.”

“Well if I had known things would have worked out so wonderfully then I definitely wouldn’t have dragged my feet,” Bree jokes, smiling as Lynette reaches for her hips and gestures to hoist her into her lap.

Nose-to-nose, Lynette smiles against Bree’s lips.

“I think we have _a lot_ of catching up to do.”

Bree brushes their lips together.

“Where do you suppose we start?”

Closing the negligible space between them, Lynette barely gets her answer out:

“Right here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read! I hope you have a wonderful day <3


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